S1 E16 20 Hours in LA
by JDPostEpisodeChallenge
Summary: written by chinesepapercuts Summary: Time enough to come to an understanding


Donna is swaying as she kneels on the bed in his hotel room. She's supposed to be packing their bags. Instead she's waxing poetic about gathering rosebuds. It's a little past 1 in the morning and she's still a little drunk. He is, too, if he admits it. Otherwise he'd never be entertaining this conversation with her. Specifically, the part about rosebuds, which is starting to make him feel uncomfortable. Donna's reminded him several times today about her alabaster skin and he can imagine that there are some parts of a woman's anatomy that would look like rosebuds, particularly on someone with alabaster skin.

Still, he lets her talk him into going to see Joey, because there has to be a healthier outlet for the things he's feeling and, let's face it, he does have just a slight crush on Joey. Who wouldn't when she's shown herself to be someone so passionate and brilliant. So, he tells himself, as he jabs at the call button for the elevator, surely the stirring he feels a little lower than his stomach is just left over from his prior conversation with Joey at the fundraiser. Frankly, he shouldn't be surprised, poll numbers usually do it for him.

When he returns to his room, a depressing 7 minutes after he left, Donna has to open the door for him. He still can't get the damn keycard to work. It's like his inability to work the door is some sort of symbolism for what had just happened with Joey, but he's still too confused and definitely too horrified about what he saw to draw any meaningful parallels.

You're back soon, Donna says, looking over him shrewdly - as if she's judged and found him wanting in the one area men never want to be found deficient.

Before he can say anything she retreats into the room and flops back on his bed, resuming the position she was in when he had left.

I didn't...I..fucking Al Kiefer. He growls. Joey was there with fucking Al Kiefer. He clarifies as he drops down onto the bed next to her. He was the 'someone' she was with. Turns out she was being truthful, not just alluring. He runs has hands over his face as if trying to erase the memory of seeing Al Kiefer, wrapped only in a hotel robe, probably post-coitally.

Donna only offers a low hmmm, as a response and he feels like he hasn't fully exonerated himself in light of her completely unwarranted assumption about his manliness.

I'll have you know that had that happened it would have been lot more than 5 minutes. I am plenty virile. He says, hazarding a glance in her direction.

I'm sure you are, Josh. She says in the tone he knows is her placating him.

I mean, not that I should have defend myself to you, but she would have been very happy. I can be very sensitive to a woman's needs. He's not really sure why he had to add that, as if that information is somehow tied to his own ability to perform.

She snorts. If only you were so generous outside the bedroom.

She should get up and resume packing their bags, but she doesn't move.

Why is this so hard? He asks quietly after a pause, still laying on his back, staring mindlessly at the hotel room ceiling with her.

Josh, if you're asking for a lesson in biology, I think it may be a little inappropriate-

Ok, you're doing the double entendre thing, I get it. Har, har. No, I mean relationships. I'm not even talking about the elusive quest for true love that you always seem to be on. I am just talking about finding someone with which you can have a meaningful, adult relationship. Fulfilling needs, Donna. It's as if all our human needs have to be consumed by the fact that we work at the White House. We have to be 100% dedicated to the job and above having such human needs.

He isn't sure where this is coming from. Usually he enjoys being swallowed up whole by his work, but frankly it has been a while since he's been regularly fulfilled in that particular area and all the talk of rosebuds and the champagne and talking with Joey at the fundraiser seem to have gotten to him tonight.

What's wrong with true love? She says, turning her gaze from the ceiling to look at him.

Well, nothing, I guess if you ever find it.

I get it, in the meantime it'd be nice to just be able to have sex on a regular basis. Preferably with someone you trust and care about.

It's the same for women. She says quickly and without preamble.

Oh. Is all he can manage in response. He's relieved she used the word first, even though it doesn't make it any more appropriate for the Deputy Chief of Staff for the President to be discussing sex, or the lack thereof, with his assistant.

They call it friends with benefits. She explains. Her eyes, intentionally unreadable as she's returned her gaze to the ceiling.

He suddenly has a flash of understanding as to why he was reciting his resume, so to speak, a few minutes before. Unconsciously applying to be her lover.

He rolls to his side and reaches out to caress her cheek with the palm of his hand.

You know you could trust me. He says, trying to school the impulse coursing through his veins into something that sounds gentle. I would always make sure your needs were met.

As he says this, she turns her face away from him slightly, pressing further into his hand and catches one of his fingertips between her lips. It's all the invitation he needs.

He rolls further toward her, perches above her and captures her lips with his. It's sweet and gentle and ends quickly.

She looks up at him, searching his eyes. What kind of arrangement are you proposing?

You, me, this. Your pleasure, my pleasure, whenever one of us needs it and the other can fulfill. That's all. I take care of you, you take care of me. We share trust, respect and confidence. As long as it's mutually desired. He says it quickly, excitedly. It's the best idea he's had in months.

No long term promises or declarations of love then? She says, almost surprised that he's not feeding her a line like all the other men who have tried, successfully and unsuccessfully, to get in her bed. Surely a politician of his caliber would be well practiced at that, right?

I'm sorry. He says. I don't really think I'm in a position to offer that. I think I would disappoint us both with promises like that.

She doesn't respond, so he continues.

I just don't have the time for a real commitment right now. He says almost sadly. Anyone I don't work with would be jealous of the time I spend at work. Probably jealous of you too, I would assume. He adds quietly. The meaning of his words, intentionally murky.

She nods thoughtfully and he lowers his head to kiss her again. This time hard and fast – escalating quickly.

Rules, she says breaking away from him. We need rules, or at least guidelines. He can see she's breathing heavily and her eyes are sparkling in a way he's never seen before. Just because you're the boss doesn't mean you get the upper hand.

That's fair. He agrees. So, first rule, we are equal. Second rule, we keep this quiet. Neither of us needs our motives being questioned by people looking to score political points.

If we are going to keep this a secret, I get to continue to date. She says slowly as she works open the buttons of his shirt and then gazes up into his eyes before pushing the shirt off his shoulders. I need to at least attempt a half-hearted quest for a life outside the West Wing or there will be questions.

That's fair, as long as we disclose if we're going to be having sex with anyone else, for you know, the practical reasons. He adds, trying to sound business-like rather than hurt.

Although, the way she phrased the rule initially gives him hope it won't come to that. What else then?

I get ultimate veto power on timing. She says. If it's not a good time for me, you will accept that gracefully and take a rain check. No pouting, pressure or guilt trips.

Of course, that goes without saying. He agrees as he sits back on his heels. That kind of thing really doesn't bother me, but I wouldn't want you to be uncomfortable. He adds. And he means it. He genuinely wants to make her feel as beautiful and comfortable as possible. What else then? He prods as he's unzipping her pants.

She looks down at him as he nips at the waistband of her underwear with his teeth. Oh God, I can't think when you are doing that.

Ok. He says simply as he pulls his mouth back. Think about it and get me some index cards later.

She watches him intently as his thumbs graze over her hips and stomach. Over protruding bones, stretch marks and scars. Over remnants of her past that she has no obligation, as a lover, to share with him. He wants to spend time getting to know her body. Asking her questions, finding what she likes.

We don't have time for this. She says as if she's reading his mind.

Ok, next time then. Tonight, we'll race the sun. He quips as he pushes her shirt up and places his lips where his thumbs had been.

Oh my God, if you ever quote President Bartlet in bed again, Josh, so help me God-

She says, stopping abruptly to arch her back as his tongue hits a particularly sensitive spot and his hand heads south.

Donna is surprised Josh is not the most intuitive lover she's ever had, but she is encouraged by his eagerness to please.

No, not like that. She says, rearranging his fingers. Like this. She finishes with a sigh as he does what she asked. He is surprised by her assertiveness, but not put off by it. Instead he regrets he hasn't had the opportunity to figure what she likes out for himself. But, as she's just reminded him, there isn't time for that. And soon she's urging him further with a quiet, but insistent, Now, Josh, now, whispered into his ear.

When they finish, not at the same time, but not too far apart, they take a few moments to catch their breath, staring into each other's eyes. Silently acknowledging the gravity of what they'd done and just how much they had both needed it. Needed each other.

Then, without speaking they both get up and tear across the room, putting clothes back on and shoving any remaining unpacked items into their bags.

Both are still flushed as they get into their car in the motorcade to travel to Air Force One for the return flight home. Donna is particularly pink in the cheeks, as Sam notes curiously.

Earlier in the day, Donna and C.J. had skipped the town hall meeting on school vouchers for what they assured their male coworkers, was much needed tanning time. Perhaps, she explains with a Mona Lisa smile, the SPF 30 wasn't enough and she had gotten a little too much sun.

Sam smiles. Glad you had a good time.

Josh groans as he falls back into his seat on the plane and as the cabin lights are dimmed for takeoff he is surprised to find himself contemplating sleep. His typically whirring mind finally slowing, likely due to his prior exertion.

He's startled when Donna flops down into the seat next to him. Flipping through papers in her ever-present planner. He turns to her and gives her a lazy smile.

So, was it, you know, all right, or maybe good. God, he's stuttering like a high schooler.

Donna smiles. If you're willing to work for it, I can make you good.

Donna! He whines.

Josh, Josh, Joshua, Josh. I was kidding, now is not the time and this is not the place. Go to sleep now.

You're not funny, you know that?

Sleep. Now. She says snapping the planner shut and resting her free hand on his knee.

He smiles. He'll never get tired of sparring with her, but he also knows he needs the sleep. So he does as he's told and closes his eyes. His last thought before he drifts to sleep is how warm her hand feels on his knee.


End file.
